Western Waves at Yuletide
by luna-stella
Summary: With the help of Gandalf and his extended family, a young Bilbo learns the history of Númenor, and Gandalf is taken prisoner.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor do I loan the locations. I have borrowed them from the great Professor and his Estates, and I promise to return them relatively undamaged.

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Prologue 

21 Foreyule, S.R. 1302

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"Master Thain, one of the Big People is waiting for you in the entry-hall. He says his name is Gandalf."

"Gandalf?" the old hobbit mused, a smile tugging at the corners of his wrinkled mouth. "Gandalf! Ha!" Apparently, the semi-public dining hall was not important  to this particular  diner, as his shout filled the cozy, fire-lit smial with sound. A hush was imminent, and so it spread as if his pronouncement had been 'Fire! Flee!' instead of the confirmation of an unexpected guest.

The child who had brought the message winced noticeably under the eyes of thirty-odd intensely curious hobbits, and bent his knees slightly so the top of his brown curls could just be seen over the table, by all save one certain prestigious elderly Took. Gerontius, commonly known as the Old Took, and Thain of the Shire, smiled at the lad. He was one Adalgrim, son of Hildigrim, son of Gerontius. As the usual mealtime babble of the hall returned to normal consistency, very few noticed another youngster slip in through the door.

Gerontius wondered what Fortinbras (another one of his grandchildren) and Adalgrim could possibly have been up to that warranted a late entry to a meal – an exceptionally rare occasion for hobbits. It seemed a nip past the entry hall had been involved. My, but it had been such a long time since Gandalf had come!

"Grandfather?"

The Old Took was distracted from his thoughts as the young tweenager stared up at him with those normally mischievous hazel eyes. Now, they seemed uncertain, and slightly abashed, for what reason Gerontius did not know.

"Yes, child?"

"Who is Gandalf? He is very large, you know, and has a very big hat. It is blue and pointed. Have you met him before, Grandfather? He said- " Adalgrim suddenly blushed. "He asked me to tell you that as long as spiders in Mirkwood spawn, he is perfectly all right with sitting and smoking by the doors of your smial. Which may turn out to be the amount of time required to wait out the conclusion of your supper, if you are comfortable with large muddy puddles on your fine furniture." The lad giggled. "Grandfather, he was not very polite."

"Hmph. No, I daresay he was not. Gandalf has ever been good-natured and grumpy. Gandalf the Wizard, they call him! Perhaps that is simply the way of Wizards." Gerontius grunted again, and rose from his fine oak chair with the assistance of a short cane. "Come, my boy, we shall greet our muddy – as you infer – guest, and see what sort of firecrackers he hides under his hat today." He suddenly glanced at the lad's shirt pocket. "My dear lad, did you know that there is a field-mouse chewing through your shirt?"


	2. Chapter One: Out Of The Wild

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor do I loan the locations. I have borrowed them from the great Professor and his Estates, and I promise to return them relatively undamaged.

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**Chapter One: Out Of The Wild**

21 Foreyule,* S.R. 1302 

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Bilbo was trying very careful to stay hidden in his niche of the second largest coat-closet where he could spy unnoticed – or so he thought – on the large gray visitor who was pacing around the room, stopping every now and then to blow a lovely smoke ring up the chimney or some other obscure place. The young hobbit had never before realized exactly how much work was involved in staying quiet and out of sight, since cousins Fortinbras and Adalgrim had never before included him in their "games". Until now, whenever he visited he had to be content with watching and envying the fun-filled intrigues and scrapes they tended to get into.

This was his very first assignment in a scheme that Fortinbras had come up with on the way to supper – though Bilbo had somehow never gotten there. Fortinbras had failed to mention exactly how long he was supposed to stay in the cramped, dusty, mothball-filled coat closet. Bilbo shifted restlessly, and froze as the big feet outside stopped pacing. It seemed he could not move at _all_ without making some loud scraping sound or another!

How _had_ he gotten himself into this? True, it was a great privilege to watch the Big Person, but he was missing supper, and out of all his Took cousins Fortinbras and Adalgrim were especially notorious for forgetting agreements such as "don't worry, we'll nick you a bit of supper". But then he felt a surge of pride when he remembered that _he_ got to be the "Scamp Lookout" for one of the tweenagers' greatest plots yet – in which Gandalf the Big Person revealed his magic. Not in some small way like firecrackers in the shape of Oliphaunts, either. The cousins were looking for big magic that couldn't be doubted.

All Bilbo had to do was stay quiet in the closet until Fortinbras and Adalgrim lured Gandalf away. And that was not so hard – was it?

Then the Wizard spoke and Bilbo jumped accidentally from a squatting position, bumping his head on the wall behind him, and scraping his knees on the way down. Everything went black as something very large and very wooden fell with a _thunk_ onto the back of his head.

*****

The arrival of Fortinbras into the dining hall had indeed been overlooked by most. However, "most hobbits" nearly never applies to one's mother, and she was very aware of her son's tardiness, much to his dismay. Perhaps just this once, she could pretend he had been at supper all along? He assumed a properly meek expression as she related to him her exact feelings about his late entry, all the while heaping carrots and potatoes onto his plate.

He could not conceal just a small delighted giggle, however, when he mentally reviewed everything that had gone on previously, with Bilbo the scamp, the coat closet, and the visiting Wizard. Fortinbras barely remembered the last time Gandalf had been in Tuckborough, for he had been almost two years old at the time, but he did know the stories of the gray-bearded old Big Person with the blue hat. He felt it was only right that he and Adalgrim explore in-depth exactly how much of the stories was fact, and how much was fiction.

Tonight's test was to prove that the old man could, or could not– one way or another – turn a certain obnoxious young cousin into some sort of swamp animal or another. As usual, Fortinbras had thought up the clever scheme, and Adalgrim had worked out the perplexing details such as how to get loose young tongues that knew too much out of the way. Bilbo really was too curious for his own good, and tonight it would prove to Fortinbras and Adalgrim's advantage for a change.

*****

Mithrandir – _Gandalf,_ he reminded himself, he was called in these parts – paced the front room with a small smile on his wrinkled face. He stopped every now and then to examine a vase, a painting, the carvings on the hat stand, and so on. There were also hazelnuts, green twigs – probably courtesy of lads such as those as he'd just sent scurrying off to sup. A mouse hole in one corner – clearly brand-new; grown hobbits were universally picky about mice.

No, with the exception of a few articles here and there, the Great Smials had not really changed very much at all in the last few years.

Except that he felt a little less secure than the last time he'd been here. Now that was a funny thing. Almost as if… almost as if… no. One would have that sort of feeling, the funny feeling that something was not quite right, out in the Wilderland, not in a cozy habitation of the most comfortable creature in all Arda.

Yet Gandalf _knew, _with every alert instinct of a Maia, that somebody or something was watching his every move.

He stopped pacing and concentrated his attention on the presence at hand. It didn't feel sinister – not at all. Gandalf relaxed, chuckling. He had been gone from the Shire far too long. There were probably one or more hobbit lads or lasses run astray from the watchful eyes of hobbit parents who were gaping at the Big Person. Hobbits were like that.

Something shifted inside the closet to his back. The Wizard whirled, reaching instinctively for his staff – which was inside the closet, he realized. The things a warm hobbit-hole and the smell of pipe-weed could do to relax one's senses!

"Come out, lads (or lasses), I know you're there. I won't hurt you," he rumbled, sinking into a chair.

_Crash!_ Gandalf sprang to his feet and rushed to the closet door.

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A/N: Quicker update next time? Yes? We hope so. Work definitely in progress; feedback much appreciated! The chapters will also hopefully be getting longer. I would have written more on this one, but the update time was beyond starting to get on my nerves.

In addition: So far, every character here comes directly from the Appendices of _The Return of the King,_ meaning I haven't had to think up my own names yet (a painful process). They're all there, and I really hope I've coordinated the dates and ages correctly. I can just see myself setting all this a century too early – not unthinkable at five in the morning, which was when I finished the prologue!

*Foreyule translates to December by the Hobbit Calendar (again, in the Appendices), thus, _21 Foreyule_ = _21 December_.


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